Dance Fever
by Frogster
Summary: Oneshot showing Derek's side of things from Tuesday Afternoon Fever. Tells how he got into that mess in the first place and why he's so mesmerized....Please Read and Review!


**Author's Note: Wow, two one-shots for me within a week? Somebody alert the press—or you can just read and review. I really, really hope you choose the latter. ******

**Dedicated to Brontesis because she said she "missed my stuff." Aw, thanks, friend! Hope you (and everyone else) enjoys!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own LWD. If I did, Dasey would have happened long ago…..**

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Derek really, really didn't know how he'd got himself in this mess. He'd only been living up to his full Derek potential—messing up Casey's day, what else? Granted, this had been a little trickier—more thought involved than a usual prank, since it involved him _dancing_—but lately he was having to come up with more complicated ways of pushing Casey's buttons. He enjoyed the challenge, though. His competitive nature never let Casey get the best of him for long—never let her rest from him, either!

Actually, when this little prank had presented itself, he'd been in a little pranking slump. He'd been almost to the point of asking _Edwin_ for help—not that he'd ever let anyone know that. The problem was, the last prank he'd played on Casey had been a week ago. When she'd come in to Smelly Nellie's—with that obnoxious Truman along—really, he was worse than that cardboard Ken, Max—he'd gotten a little irritated. He didn't really know what Casey saw in him—heck, he'd rather her go back out with Sam than date this twerp—and so he'd barely managed to stop himself from dousing Truman—such a fake name, _true man_—with his Dr. Pepper. He didn't know what had come over himself, but he'd quickly covered it up by unscrewing their table's saltshaker when they were over talking to Emily and Sam. _That _had made his day: Casey's shocked, and then enraged, face when she'd tipped the saltshaker, wanting to put a little seasoning on her fries, but winding up with a Mt. Fuji of salt instead! He couldn't help but laugh. He guffawed when he saw Casey squirming, or trying not to: seemed that the salt had fallen onto the sticky vinyl booth and some of it was irritating Casey's legs, which he had to admit looked very nice coming out of her skirt. _That _thought had gotten him a little distracted—enough that he didn't see the tidal wave of Casey's Diet Coke coming until it had already drenched him. It had taken hours to get the sticky buildup out of his hair—long enough so that he missed curfew. He'd been grounded. Normally that wouldn't have stopped him from sneaking out and having fun, but finals were coming up and he needed to at least pass in order to get a good hockey scholarship. Of course, hockey took precedence over everything else—including irritating Casey. At least for a little while. He didn't see much of her anyway—she was always locked in her room, studying hard even though she probably had a 110 in each class. The keener.

But then opportunity showed itself when Casey announced her intent to enter a new dance competition. She was hoping that it would attract colleges to award her a dance scholarship—not that she needed anymore college money, with most colleges in the area offering her a full ride—because it was to be broadcast live on TV. Derek couldn't resist. This had to be destiny calling: a chance to humiliate, or at least incense, Casey on LIVE, locally broadcast TV? Derek wouldn't be Derek if he didn't take the chance.

And so he did. He signed up a few days later online and set to "practicing". He was caught once by Edwin, who stared at his older brother as if he'd grown another head.

"What?" protested Derek. He made it look like he was just head-banging to that new Metallica CD, but Edwin didn't seem convinced. "I'm trying to keep my muscles all stretched out for hockey," Derek smoothly lied. "Gatorade, now, Edwin!" And that had been the end of that.

He'd been greatly rewarded at the auditions with Casey's face: confused, shocked, disbelieving, irate. He'd succeeded in making fun of her precious dance; now he could go home, plop down in his chair, and watch a good hockey game. What was really surprising was when the judge had passed him on to the finals. Even more surprising was his family's reaction to the event: he never imagined that all of them would take Casey's side. And proceed to give him the silent treatment. Not that some of his family's ability to ignore him really bothered him, but the fact that his Smarti had jumped on the family bandwagon, had deserted him, really made him look, for a minute, at what he'd done. That one minute's thought had propelled himself upstairs and into Casey's room, where he found her boxing up all of her dance stuff. The utter hopelessness, the look of defeat in her eyes had stopped him from making some crude remark. George and Nora had been right (not that he'd ever admit that): dance _was_ Casey's hockey. It was her dream, her lifelong goal. And God forbid that he'd ever crush that part of her; that, Derek knew, was going _too _far. So he'd made the on-the-spot decision to help her. What the heck, it might even make him score some points with that other, totally hot girl—Sarah or Sandra or whatever her name was. And Derek Venturi was never one to pass up a hot date.

That was how he found himself, on a Tuesday afternoon, backstage at the local auditorium standing behind Casey, watching their opponents and trying not to notice the light, floral, sweet scent that was emanating from Casey and teasing his senses. He made a slight face at that other girl—the one who had the nerve to turn him down. He'd never really cared for brunettes that much anyway…..

And yet working with Casey had not been that bad. Once he got past the weird, stretchy outfits and the even weirder sounds coming from Casey's boombox, he found that he actually, sort of, enjoyed it. Casey was a good teacher—she didn't just tell him what to do, she showed him—which may have been why he enjoyed it so much. Her love and appreciation, her zeal, for dance shone through when she was teaching Derek—too bad that summer camp for kids hadn't been a dance camp. He'd even managed to make her laugh a little with his "old man" dance routine: hand on lower back, bent so far over that if even the slightest wind blew he'd topple over, staggering and making jerking moments all over the living room. The laughter had lasted long enough for him to notice it, but was quickly replaced by a reprimand from Casey on "respecting our elders". He smirked and turned his attention back to the competitors on stage. They were good, but not as excellent, not as precise as Casey. His zombie routine aside, he knew the real star was Casey—and for the moment, that didn't bother him.

Their turn came, and Casey slunk onto the stage, graceful as a butterfly. She resembled one, too, in that slinky dress of hers, with its delicate rainbow hues and light appearance. He missed his cue because he was so mesmerized by her; mesmerized by long, slender legs and arms moving effortlessly, invitingly, smooth as a gentle breeze. When he finally came back to himself—why was he watching Casey, of all people?—he clomped onto the scene, arms hanging uselessly, legs dead weight, eyes all stricken and bloodshot as if he was drunk. He was her perfect opposite, such a contrast to her elegance. She continued her whirling, intoxicating dance, luring him in. He came as Frankenstein had come to the haunting violin music, especially when she glided across the floor and sat, looking up at him, her eyes taunting and alluring, trapping him. And then she rose and danced her way into his arms. His hand felt right on the small of her back. Her head and upper body fell back as her leg rose up, and he automatically, instinctively caught it. The moment felt as long as eternity yet passed too quickly; all too soon she was standing next to him, quivering just a bit with nerves, breathing shallowly. Then the judge proclaimed them the winners. Casey shrieked and immediately half-hugged him, and he let her, either from a lapse in judgment or momentary blindness from camera shutters. Ah, the spotlight. He was made to be a star, born to be admired and fawned over by hundreds, thousands, millions.

Sharing the moment with Casey, amazingly, made it all a little better. (Not that he'd admit it.)

He only wished Ralph hadn't made him look a fool with his crazy dance number—or that Casey had laughed a little bit longer at Ralph's show than Derek's "old man" sequence.

**So, there you have it: my first LWD one-shot in quite a while. I've been so busy! But now that we're on Christmas break, I've got a little more time to write, if only the plot bunny will strike.**

**Hope it's not too OOC. Hope you enjoyed it—please review! It makes me really happy! Throws virtual cookies**

**Happy New Year, everybody! Here's to a writing-filled new year! (Hopefully.)**

**Frogster**


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